


Still waters run deep

by UnicornofAmber



Category: Chronicles of Amber - Roger Zelazny
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:07:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 10,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28767567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnicornofAmber/pseuds/UnicornofAmber
Summary: "The fact that Benedict had chosen to come in on Gerard's Trump rather than mine was his way of expressing his feelings toward me. Was it also an indication of an alliance to keep me in check?"Yes. Yes it was.
Comments: 25





	1. Chapter 1

The sea swirled with rumors that Oberon had found a new queen, and not only that, but that she already had a son. Moire had instructed her to be her eyes and ears above to see if those rumors were true, and refused the king of Amber her presence. She had seen what pain Oberon had caused their mother. Never would he lay eyes on her, unless he chose to put his pride aside to come and visit her.

Which the king did not.

smothered between the burning colors of her brothers Bleys and Brand, Llewella watched the queen approach. Oberon’s previous wife had brought her children. To everyone’s shock, Rilga brought an adult brother in their midst. Benedict greeted Rilga’s son with polite interest. Corwin and Eric, who could not use their superiority in experience and height to intimidate like they had with Llewella and the redheads, had a reserved smile as they shook hands. Deirdre looked absolutely bored and did not bother to hide it – another brother added to their family. As if they hadn’t enough testosterone flying around already.

Their new brother seemed to mirror that same sentiment. Being raised an only child throughout his entire life, the newest prince had no need of a dozen brothers or sisters, most of them still in their diapers.

“Fiona, Bleys, Llewella-“

Brand’s teeth grinded. Llewella flinched.

“-And my youngest, Brand.” Oberon completed the introductions.

“You have green hair.” Rilga burst out and immediately blushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

Llewella ignored the muffled sniggering of her siblings, raised her chin to meet Rilga’s eyes and slowly replied, “I’m born from Moins of Rebma. Green hair is hardly uncommon there.”

“Rebma?”

“It’s the reflection of Amber beneath the sea.” Oberon replied in an almost bored tone to his lover, “Once you have seen Amber, you’ve seen Rebma.“

“The same can be said in reverse,” Llewella bit out. Immediately, Oberon’s eyes pierced like daggers into her skull, and the young woman braced for his wrath.

“If the two cities are so alike, then it spares me twice the tour.” It was the first time since their arrival that Caine spoke – he had a more subdued version of Oberon’s temperamental voice, but it was warmer than Brand’s. And as Caine’s eyes fell upon Llewella, she noted he was the only one to have inherited father’s piercing gaze. “How do I gain access to Rebma?”

“Caine, not again-“ Rilga began to sigh at her son’s wanderlust,

“It will only be for a short time-“

“You ALWAYS say that!”

It was clear that they’d had this argument more than just once, and Llewella followed it intensively. No one had ever shown that much interest in Rebma before. All of her siblings took Oberon’s word and never set foot in Rebma unless it were absolutely needed for Amber’s benefit. But Caine seemed to be cut differently than the rest of her kin. Llewella watched the two bicker back and forth, until Oberon’s voice intervened.

“You can not go to Rebma. Not unless Queen Moire grants you passage through her waters.”

“ _I_ can arrange such a passage.” Llewella said without sparing a glance to her father.

“Then, can you also recommend me a guide?” Caine asked.

“Myself.”

Caine smiled for the first time since his arrival.

Amidst the preparations of Oberon’s wedding to Rilga, Llewella negociated and eventually gained Moire’s blessing to allow Caine into Rebma while Rilga had managed to convince her restless son to stay in Amber at least till after the wedding.

“I will allow you to explore for your own pleasure, I want you to understand the bigger picture, here. While I will be Queen today, it is only in title. It will be your words and deeds that they will remember.” Rilga quietly whispered as she linked her arm into her son’s.

Caine only nodded, for the trumpets called Oberon’s bride, and the newest prince of Amber gave his mother away at the aisle. After the two were joined as husband and wife, Oberon called for both Llewella and Caine to come forward, declared them to be legit children of his blood and gave Caine his blessing to travel to Rebma.

Llewella glanced at Caine, who only gave her a small nod. Were it Caine’s persistence to travel to Rebma, or Rilga’s influence that had caused Oberon’s resolve to crack? Nevertheless the reason, the message that Oberon brought to all could not be more evident – a offering of peace between the Twin Cities.


	2. Chapter 2

Llewella brought Caine to Rebma, as promised, and her people flocked to Oberon’s newest child. The contrast with his other brothers couldn’t be more jarring. It almost seemed as if Caine had carelessly put on the first cloth he had found. They were a combination of Mediterranean and Arabic, loose around the body, without excessive decoration and well… downright practical.

The rebmans came to see his exotic look – they stayed interested for his charm. Rilga’s son spoke with subtle sarcasm and a healthy dose of self-confidence, without coming off as demeaning, and he became all the more dear to Rebma, so much so that Moire allowed him to walk the Pattern in her kingdom.

“Have all of my brothers and sisters walked it?” Caine asked the other night to Llewella. The princess could hear the grimace in his voice as she poured out two glasses of wine for them both, and Llewella smiled, understanding his discomfort. To be raised as an only child, and to suddenly hear you have a dozen brothers and sisters… it was like being thrown to the wolves.

“Yes. Safe for myself.” Llewella replied as she offered one of the glasses to Caine, who took a sip.

“But you are older than the redheads-“

Llewella let out a low grunt, “Younger than Fiona, older than Bleys – We _think_. The time-difference in Shadow makes it difficult to exactly pin-point who was born when, but that is the most commonly accepted idea in the family.”

“So, why have you not yet walked it? because you fear not being of Oberon’s blood?”

“Oh, believe me, my mother was damn sure she was pregnant of _him_ ,” Llewella bitterly said, swallowing her glass in one go and placing it so hard upon the table that it broke. Glass shattered in her hand, and Llewella crunched it into a fist so it dug into her skin, “I do not fear not being of Oberon’s blood, I refuse him _and_ the Pattern.” She’d expected Caine to stand up, for him to be shocked and flee the room for her unproper manners.

_The princess who can not Walk._

“Why is it you stay in my company, Caine?” When Caine opened his mouth, Llewella beat him to it, “spare me your pity. I’ve drowned in it ever since I was born. Go on, I release you from your…” Llewella gestured with her bloodied hand, causing a red haze to spread in the room, “Ah, moral code.” The princess sarcastically added with a wry smile.

Caine laughed, low and deep, “In my world, it is common that the weak and unfit are abandoned and die of starvation. I hear such is not the case in Amber. Had I pitied you, my lady, I would not speak let alone look upon you.”

“Then why do you theorize about my motivations?” Llewella demanded in an almost accusing tone, causing Caine’s eyes to darken.

“I fail to see why I should apologize for my curiosity. The words are said, their ink long dry. Let us speak of them no more as not to ruin this evening.” The prince replied as he stood up and advanced upon the rebman princess.

Llewella shot up as well, and before she could reach for her hidden dagger, Caine’s hand caught her bleeding hand, and proceeded to take the shards out. “You say you don’t pity me, yet you take care of me like I were a child.” Llewella tried to yank her hand away, but Caine held it firmly.

“The smell of blood prevents me from enjoying the wine.” Came Caine’s dry remark as he pulled out the last shard. For a second, Caine seemed to see a tiny smile on her lips. 

“So why do you fear to walk the Pattern?”

“Did I ever imply such a thing?”

“No one of my kin ever asked such questions… not unless you are plagued by similar ghosts.”

“You don’t give up, do you?” Caine’s eyes lingered on Llewella, before finally replying, “We both regard our father with bitterness. We both want to be anywhere but in Amber. Walk the Pattern, and come with me.”

Llewella offered her brother a sad smile, “I can’t. I’ve become too tied to this place. You eventually will share the same fate, but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. you can stay here, in Rebma, where you are loved…” Llewella put her hand on Caine’s cheek, and winced when the prince yanked her hand away.

“You think you’re defying father by rejecting the power that’s within you? You think yourself noble, yourself a better person by isolating yourself?” As he spoke, Caine had cornered Llewella against the coral wall, “You are still a child – a spoiled and petulant one, at that - and I would have forgiven such words, had you not had the audacity to ask me to follow your example.” The prince caught Llewella’s hand that contained her dagger and squeezed. “I’m not declining my birthright. Not for you, not for father.”

Llewella cried and released the dagger when Caine’s pressure became too much.

“Why am I even bothering with this conversation – with you?” Caine quietly as he watched Llewella try and keep her tears at bay. Abruptly, the prince let her go, causing Llewella to stumble upon the ground and left without a single word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We don't know where Rilga came from, but I always imagined her and Caine to be from a mediterranean or arabic Shadow (or a combination of the two) with a spartan-like culture. 
> 
> It took me a while to write this scene, especially to try and get Caine right. 
> 
> Llewella too, has a darker side which I love(d) to explore. She's always seen as sad and passive by Corwin - who is an excellent judge of women in the books.


	3. Chapter 3

After two months in Rebma, Oberon called Rilga’s son back, and Caine begrudgingly did. He appeared right in the throne room. Many of his kin described the Pattern below Kolvir as their compass, that it became quite literally their very center – they could always sense where it direction lies, were always drawn to it whenever they were out in Shadow. Stay away long enough, they say, and you would feel as if you went “cold turkey”.

But Caine had walked the Pattern of Rebma and his compass had forever shifted to the sea. It was simply agonizing to stay here, on dry land. Caine sought for the maps of the surrounding kingdoms, presented them to the King and demanded to remake old routes that Osric and Finndo had laid out.

Not asked. Caine _demanded_ with such fire that Oberon was swayed.

It was the start of what Amberian historians would later call “the golden era.” Caine expanded and solidified the trade routes between the kingdoms that would later become part of the Golden Circle. Oberon and Rilga would cement these alliances permanently, but it was Caine who had awakened the thirst of discovery and adventure among the citizens of Amber. He was the prince who taught Amber how to sail. But he also taught Julian, and later Gérard, about his love for exotic places and adventure. Only Gérard would follow his brother to the sea, while Julian beat Corwin at his game, and Arden thrived much like Amber’s port.

Those were also the happiest days for Llewella and Rebma. Under Rilga’s reign, the broken bond between the twin cities began to heal. Llewella began to mingle more frequently with her brothers and sisters in Amber. Benedict smiled more. Eric and Corwin managed to get through one door without smacking it in each other’s faces. Even Brand seemed less erratic by Rilga’s presence. The hostility between him and Llewella ceased, and the two became friends. 

More and more, Llewella became tempted to walk the Pattern –while she and father never gotten along (nor would they ever), it would nudge the twin cities even closer. Aside from a marriage between the houses Llyr and Barimen, off course… Llewella let out a sigh, her eyes drawn to a certain olive-skinned brother.

“Penny for your thought?”

As if she were a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, Llewella snapped to Deirdre. “What?”

Deirdre grinned and nodded to Caine, seated at the other side of the table. The prince caught them staring, smiled and raised his cup of wine to his sisters.

Llewella felt her cheeks burn when Caine’s eyes lingered on her and the rebman princess quickly averted her gaze, staring intensely at her plate. “I was thinking to walk the Pattern.”

“Really?!” Deirdre began to laugh, clasping her hand upon Llewella’s shoulder. “This gives another reason to celebrate!” The eldest daughter of Oberon stood up, raised her cup and yelled, “To my sister Llewella, who will walk the Pattern tonight!”

After the initial shock and surprise, the people began to cheer and mimicked Deirdre “To Llewella!” Her siblings too, joined in, drank their cup and proceeded to wish her good luck.

“I never thought we’d see the day, sister!” Brand laughed and gave Llewella a kiss on the cheek.

“Do you wish for someone to accompany you downstairs?”

“That’s very kind, but I know the way,” Llewella replied to Gérard.

“Well, be very careful about the loose step-“

“There he goes again…”

“It’s _true_!”

Llewella left Bleys and Gérard to bicker among themselves, and walked the Pattern below as last of her siblings, and stood at the center. She could go anywhere she wanted… Llewella concentrated on Rebma, on her siblings waiting in the great hall, but the image was always replaced by another.

The world spun around, and Llewella blinked in the sudden darkness.

“Llew?”

“I’m here.” Llewella whispered, seeking for his hand, only to stagger instead. She felt Caine’s hand upon her waist, causing her knees to involuntarily buckle, and Caine lifted her to his bed. 


	4. Chapter 4

It could not last, the bliss they were in. The golden era was nearing its slow, agonizing end alongside Amber’s queen, and the twin cities recovered from her loss due to the character of her sons. 

The same could not be said for Oberon, and people began to whisper worriedly about his state of mind. Oberon’s steady hand and presence wavered in Amber. His wives after Rilga were chosen on a impulsive whim, his marriages short-lived. So was Paulette.

Rebma opened the doors for her child Random, but their pity quickly turned into disgust when the prince fled with Morganthe, and have the girl return alone and pregnant.

Rilga’s healing balm was torn off. Old wounds were re-opened and new were made. Llewella and Moire were unanimous to shut Rebma’s doors before the outrage of their citizens against Amber could come to fruition. And, to ward off Oberon’s influence on Morganthe’s son.

“Aunt Llewie!” Martin cried out as he sped towards his returned relative, whom picked and tossed the boy up. Squealing, Martin fell back in Llewella’s arms.

“Hello Martin,” Llewella returned the greeting as Martin put his hands around her neck, “There is someone who wishes to meet you.”

“Who?” The rebman prince asked with big eyes.

Llewella looked over her shoulder, gesturing with her head, and a tall, lean man appeared in the doorway. “This is your uncle Benedict.” The princess said while putting Martin back on his own feet.

Martin gaped as Benedict came forward, and turned to Llewella. “But… grandmother said that princes of Amber are cruel bastards! They are not allowed here!”

“ _Martin_!” Llewella scolded the young prince with a tick on his shoulder, when Benedict raised his hand.

“It is alright, Llewella. A child’s tongue only speaks the truth,” The corners of Benedict’s mouth slightly curled upwards. The tall man crunched so he was on eye-level with the boy and reached out his hand.

“You ain’t ugly or nasty,” Martin stated slowly, before narrowing his eyes, “Show me your mouth.”

“Why?” Benedict glanced at Llewella, who merely shrugged.

“To know whether you have sharp teeth, off course!”

Benedict opened his mouth, giving Martin a better look. For the moment, the rebman prince inspected Benedict’s teeth and when he found nothing particularly unsettling, Martin’s face flourished. Before Oberon eldest son could react, Martin put his little arms around a flabbergasted Benedict. “You ain’t a monster,” mumbled the young prince in Benedict’s vest.

Llewella heard and saw Benedict beginning to hyperventilate, and the rebman princess called Martin to let go of her older brother, who was clearly uncomfortable with Martin’s gesture.

“Did I do something wrong, auntie?”

Llewella opened her mouth, when Benedict marched towards the boy. For a moment, the warrior only stared at him, trying to get his irregular breathing under control, before ruffling his hand through Martin’s hair. Silent like a ghost, Llewella’s brother proceeded to walk into the throne room.

“No, Martin. You didn’t do anything wrong. Just… different.” Llewella replied as Benedict bowed before her sister.

“Grandmother! Aunt Llewie brought a _nice_ prince of Amber. Isn’t that great?” Martin exclaimed as he pointed at Benedict like one would point at an animal in the zoo.

“Yes, Martin. Why don’t you go and play?” Moire absent-mindedly asked, all while she kept her gaze upon Benedict.

“Can the nice prince join too?”

“Maybe. Now off you go.”

Moire waited till Martin was out of sight and out of earshot before turning to the two amberites. “Sister,” The Rebman queen placed a kiss upon Llewella’s cheek, nodded to Benedict, “Lord Benedict. Seeing you both return without Corwin, I can assume your search was unsuccessful?”

“Unfortunately.” Benedict quietly sighed, “And that is all I wish to say about it at the moment. I hoped I could find repose here, for a little while-”

“Always.”

“-and to have Martin ascend the Faiella-Bonin with me and Llewella.”

Moire’s smile froze at his words and her eyes shot to Llewella. “Truly low of you, sister, to use Benedict to try and soften my resolve.”

“I _told_ you she would react that way,” Llewella grumbled through her teeth to her older brother.

“Llewella voiced her concern but never asked me to speak on her behalf,” Benedict kept on speaking in that same calm voice.

“Like I told Llewella, I will now say to you. I will not have my grandson become a part of your family’s intrigues, to be used, corrupted and molded to their whim!”

“So do I. And that is why I am here. Inevitably, the boy will become aware of his strength, and want to test it outside of your borders. But that is all he is now – a boy. Today, I only ask your permission to be his friend instead of a relative. So he may distinct the two from one another in the future.”

“And whoever will be interested in Martin, will be repelled,” Llewella added, “His name alone is enough to make armies flee. You couldn’t ask for a better shield.”

Moire remained silent for a long while, before giving a sharp nod. “You have my permission to acquit yourself with him. But one seed of corruption, one slither of ambition that you install within him, Lord Benedict, and I’ll grant you the same courtesy like I did Martin’s father.”

As the trio ascended upon the Faiella-Bonin, with the two elder amberites holding Martin’s hand at his sides, the young prince became increasingly more nervous, and Llewella stopped. “When you are ready, Martin,” Llewella gently said to the terrified boy. She remembered her own shock when she broke through the surface the first time – no one was her guide back then.

“Okay.” Martin swallowed, took a deep breath, broke through the surface, gasped from the shock only to stumble backwards. He would have tripped and fallen down the stairs if Benedict hadn’t caught him.

“Its alright, boy.” The tall warrior encouraged as he helped Martin up his feet. “The first time is always disorientating.”

It took half an hour for the Rebman prince to overcome his fear and disorientation, but finally he stood upon the shores, with peeping eyes from the burning sun.

“These will help,” Llewella smiled as she put sun glasses upon Martin’s nose.

“Thank you, auntie.”

“You’re welcome.”

Already, Martin had ran off during Llewella’s response, asking “what’s this?” and “What is that?” as he pointed at the birds and the plantlife. The two elder Amberites explained, and Martin sucked the information like a sponge.

They showed the boy how to make a campfire, how to choose the right wood to make arrows and a bow, how to make traps for animals, but when Llewella pointed out how one could make a sandcastle, well… they couldn’t set his mind to anything else, and the two watched as Martin tried to “defend” his fortress against the tides.

“Gérard proposed to have a tomb erected in Corwin’s memory”

“ _Really_ Ben? Must we speak of this now?” The Rebman princess snapped at Benedict for reminding them of Corwin – a nagging fact, a blot upon this nearly perfect day.

“Yes, we must. Corwin hasn’t answered our calls for years. None of us found him in Shadow.. We have to accept the possibility of his death.”

Nothing was said for a long while, and the two listened to the rolling waves washing upon the sand. “It’s so… definitive,” Llewella finally replied, peeling at her dress.

“But it would allow us to find peace and move forward,” Benedict nodded at Martin, whose fortress began to crumble against the incoming sea. The warrior looked at the dying sun, and stood up to fetch the Rebman prince. “Martin! Time to go!”

Llewella chuckled when Martin began to whine and stood up to join her brother.

“Uncle please, five more minutes!”

“No,” came Benedict’s flat reply.

“Two more minutes?” Martin tried as his uncle picked him up with one arm around the boy’s waist.

“ _No_.”

“One-“ Martin went silent when Benedict’s eyes burned in his skull.

Llewella looked at Martin’s fortress, toppling into the roaring sea, before following her brother and nephew into the sea.


	5. Chapter 5

Martin gasped when he saw a womanly figure in the shadows.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

The young man took a deep breath of relief when he recognized his aunt. “Aunt Llew… I- I was.. achem…” _Shit, make something up!_

“Taking a stroll?” Llewella offered as she came into the moonlight.

“Yes!” Realizing he reacted too quickly, the young prince tried to compose himself, “Yes, I was taking a…a stroll.” Martin followed Llewella’s eyes to his backpack. _Oh no…_

“Then you should show the proper courtesy by allowing everyone a good nights sleep,” Llewella replied. As she led Martin to the Pattern, the princess snuck two trumps in his backpack – her own, and that of Benedict’s.

The seas turned darker. After Corwin and Moire’s grandson, Brand and Oberon too vanished off the earth. It was not until Benedict send a bird of desire to Moire that Martin had found refuge with him, that Llewella was allowed within Rebma once more. Still, the two were not on common ground, and it would have remained that way for many years, had there not been other, bigger concerns.

Amber was left without a king, and the vacant throne caused for social unrest within both Amber and Rebma. Their cries for stability were unheard. Even now, with Bleys and Eric as the remaining competitors, the family was still at an impasse, arguing back and forth for one or the other.

Llewella watched and said nothing, much to Bleys’ and Eric’s frustration. She’d received trump calls from the both of them, from Deirdre, from Julian… To all of them, Llewella gave the same response, “I will stand with Amber.”

Her siblings, even Oberon, tend to forget that Rebma’s loyalty was to Amber, never to the King who ruled it. If she would ever utter her personal choice for Amber’s king, and it were the losing party, then Rebma would suffer the winner’s wrath for as long as he lived.

Finally though, Llewella and her city let out a sigh of relief when Bleys stormed away from Amber. No doubt he would give them troubles later. Nor was the succession matter solved as long as Bleys didn’t concede, but at least this allowed the people of the twin cities for some respite.

And then… the scouts mentioned three of her siblings at the stairs of the Faiella-Bonin.

_Think._

Llewella bit her lip, watching Corwin, Deirdre and Random hurry down the stairs. It would be safe, to turn the other cheek and let the trio get captured by Julian’s soldiers. But that would imply Rebma submitted to Amber and supported Eric’s authority. If she allowed them inside Rebma, then the scale would tip the complete opposite direction.

_Think._

Moire would never forgive her if she’d willingly slip Random out of her grip and let him be delivered to Amber.

But what would Eric’s reaction be, when he hears Rebma came to Corwin’s aid? If it were indeed her brother…

The rebman princess was still debating with herself, when her enhanced sight allowed her to see one of Julian’s soldiers trespassing the borders of Rebma with the tip of his shoe, and Llewella smiled. She had the perfect excuse to intervene. “Guards!” Llewella roared her command and watched as her guards aided her siblings in repelling Julian’s soldiers. When the fighting had ceased, the rebman princess sought for her sister and gave her the news.

“You said Corwin were dead.”

“We _all_ thought he were,” Llewella quietly answered her sister as they watched her siblings walk towards the castle from the window. “Do we inform Eric?” Llewella asked after a heartbeat.

“Is it even the real Corwin?” Moire ignored her question, and Llewella grinded her teeth.

“Julian does not hunt for no reason, so it might truly be my brother. No doubt, Eric is being informed about Corwin’s where-abouts as we speak.” Llewella began to speak more rapidly now, to convince Moire that immediate action was needed. “Amber has always allowed Rebma to take in refugees and vice versa. But that was in Oberon’s time, not Eric’s. Our silence has not made Eric kinder towards us, and he might force my hand to deliver Corwin – and thereby, forcing Rebma to forfeit its neutrality. We _need_ to keep ahead.”

“Hm.” Moire remained silent, rolling her sister’s advice in her head, before finally replying, “I will hear them, and send Corwin out of Rebma as swiftly as possible. Will you join me?”

Llewella grimaced. Moire asked her out of courtesy, as she always had. Along with her opinion, her presence too had to be delicately considered in these family matters. “No, I’ll remain in my chambers.” Llewella bitterly replied, “Thank you for asking.”

“If you don’t want me to ask you in the future-“

“No.” Llewella shook her head, crossing her arms. She didn’t understand. No one understood but Martin - the continuous imbalance, their dual heritage that raged and tore them apart. The rebman princess swallowed the storm and faced Moire. “No, dear sister, keep asking me, even when say otherwise. _Especially_ when I say otherwise.”

Llewella felt Moire’s hand squeezing hers, the rustling of placing her own crown upon her head, and her echoing footsteps. She had not heard from Martin in a long while. Last time, he’d told her he was going to visit the Tecys with Benedict and then… complete silence. She’d tried to call him, first weekly and then every day, but the card did not respond. It was a comfort she knew he were alive thanks to the coldness of his card, but she wanted to know how he’s been, what he has seen…

Had Rebma done so badly for him?

Llewella did not voice her concern to Moire regarding Martin’s silence, on the contrary, she lied through her teeth several times whenever her sister asked how he has been. But with Corwin’s unexpected arrival, Moire might not be content just hearing her stories, but demand that Martin is brought back home…

Llewella took out Martin’s trumpcard. She was sadly not well gifted when it came to making these cards, and had asked Brand to create one for her during one of his stays in Rebma. The princess watched the portrait of Martin, back then only 15 years of age, and concentrated.

The card flickered.

“Martin?”

The contact was hardly stable. While the trump card had gone black, Llewella could read his incoherent thoughts – jumping like lightening from one memory to another, but the scenes and voices were twisted and surreal…

She’d established contact with the boy in the midst of a nightmare, and the princess of the twin cities didn’t press the contact any further to break Martin out of his sleep. He would be disorientated and might attack her when she woke him up too roughly.

“ _Martin. So good to finally speak with you.”_

_“You’re Brand.”_

_“That’s correct.”_ There were lines, big lines on the background of the trump call, and Llewella squinted her eyes to see it better. But Martin’s conversation with Brand continued on, and Llewella decided to let that familiar view slide to focus on their conversation instead.

_“How did you get a trump card of me?”_

_“I fashioned them on Llewella’s behest.”_

“ _Them_?” Llewella echoed along with Martin, and let Martin continue on his own, _“You’ve made more? Why was I never told about this?!”_

 _“Because you wouldn’t have agreed in the first place. Llewella wanted an… exclusive group to have your trump,-”_ Brand’s green eyes began to burn, and Llewella shuddered. Something was off. Something was really, truly off. _“- consisting of people who she deemed trustworthy.”_

_“So, why did you call me?”_

_“Benedict is currently unavailable, and he wanted I pulled you through. You see, Amber’s a bit in a power struggle right no-“_

Llewella screamed alongside Martin when Brand’s knife shot out, tearing through her – his! – stomach. The initial shock delayed Llewella’s reaction, and the nightmare continued on. Another cut, at the chest. Brand grew more solid, his maniac grin revealed fangs like a demon, and he grew taller. And taller.

_Break it off, Martin!_

Llewella’s voice shattered the nightmare apart and the young man shot awake. For one second, Llewella saw all the raw pain and vulnerability upon Martin’s face, before his face twisted into a snarl.

**_GET OUT!_ **

It felt like Martin smacked a door in her face. Llewella screamed and let go of Martin’s trump as she sagged on the ground. The panting princess lay immobile for what seemed like hours to her, before she finally found the strength to stumble towards her chair.

 _He had hurt Martin and she- She! – had told all about him, had described him!_ Tears began to spring in Llewella’s eyes, and her shaking hands covered her mouth to muffle her rage – for Brand, but mostly for herself. _You fool! You damn fool, you led Brand to him, it was YOU! Oohh- Who else?! Who ELSE was involved in this?!_

Llewella sought for her deck and spread out her brothers and sisters. _Was it to rid Rebma of his only heir? To provide discord? No… no, it is never that simple for Brand…_

“My Lady?”

 ** _“YES?!”_** Llewella was clenching her fists so hard that her nails drew blood, but the princess did not pay attention to that. Her heart was pounding so fast, and her chest so tight, Llewella found herself become lightheaded from her own rage.

Vialle stumbled back from Llewella’s murderous tone and hastily curtsied. “I… I wanted to let you know that dinner is served.. m’lady.” The woman stammered.

“Yes…” Llewella brought out, slowly realizing this was not Brand, but a close friend of hers. “Thank you, Vialle…I just collided against the chair. Silly me.” The princess closed her eyes and swallowed to get her erratic breathing under control.

The blind woman made the move to enter, reconsidered and fiddled with her hands. “If your foot causes you too much trouble, I could ask for the cooks to bring your meal upstairs.”

“That would be lovely.”

Now more than ever, she needed time to think on her own – but all Llewella could think about, were Brand’s maniac laughter and Martin’s bleeding stomach. “Vialle!” Llewella called for the blind woman when she wanted to leave her quarters. “Take for yourself and dine with me.”

Vialle curtsied and vanished out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something that was never quite explained is how Brand could draw a Trump of Martin, while never really meeting him beforehand.
> 
> I also wanted to offer an explanation why Martin never did contact Llewella and Benedict. Because they are mentioned by Brand, Martin associates them with the attempt on his life, and will not trust any of his family. 
> 
> In the books, Random wakes up Merlin in the midst of a dream. While he pressured for contact, Llewella was a lot more gentle, allowing her to see Martin's nightmare.


	6. Chapter 6

After their shared meal and long conversation, her mind was no longer shrouded with her emotions, and allowed Llewella to see Martin’s nightmare in clear glass. Those lines she’d seen in the background… It felt so familiar to her, and her intuition told her it was important for her to know. Llewella drew the lines from the memory, and pensively stared at it. The solution was practically on her tongue when-

_God damn it, a trump call!_

“ _Who_?” Llewella growled for disturbing her task. The rebman princess narrowed her eyes and Eric slowly came into view. “Hello, brother. How go things in Amber?”

“You gave Deirdre and Random sanctuary.”

It was one trait that Llewella could tolerate from Eric: her brother was to the point in every conversation. “Obviously,” Llewella replied while continuing her drawing.

“As you did for Corwin.”

Llewella put her pencil down and glared at the watery image of her brother. “I suggest you reread the treaty our father and Moire brought into existence. In case your memory fails you, article 7, section 3. _The twin cities shall respect the political sanctuary that one provides to its refugees-“_

 _“As long as one party does not openly provide the refugee with troops or counsel to openly assault the other,”_ Eric finished for Llewella, “Only, you’ve allowed Corwin to openly assault the Crown of Amber.”

“Corwin only assaulted his bastard brother and current _regent_ of Amber,” Llewella corrected her brother, whose eyes began to darken. “And Corwin only asked of Rebma to walk the Pattern - which is a request every member of our blood is allowed to ask.” As Llewella spoke, a red gem came into view. “Is that-“

“The jewel of Judgement, yes.” The regent confirmed as he let it drop to his chest once more, “I’ve learned to control it, just now.”

_A typhoon, with thundering dark clouds above, and the agonizing screams of her people below…_

Had Eric contacted her before she knew of Martin, Llewella would have cowered. Now, the rebman princess didn’t bother to hide the emotions that Brand, and now Eric had evoked.

“I see.” It was becoming more tempting by the second to tell Moire what Brand had done to her grandson. While he was gone, there would be no further arguments needed to convince Moire in an all-out war against Amber. “Well then, since you decide to burn our bridges, Rebma has no further reason to uphold her neutrality in the succession of Amber and I can openly support _my_ choice for the Eternal Throne.”

Llewella could feel Eric’s surprise grow while she spoke – no doubt he had not expected such a bold answer from her. “Wait!”

“Yes?” Llewella’s hand hovered above the trump, on the verge of breaking contact.

“Forgive my misplaced anger towards you and your queen,” Eric continued more quietly, but not humble in the slightest, “I do not intend to burn our bridges. On the contrary, I wish to unite them in matrimony.”

“First you threaten to obliterate Rebma, now you wish I do a good word on your behalf with Moire? I think not. In fact, I will tell my sister about this conversation-“

“Llewella-“

“- and I will not plead for mercy on Amber’s behalf like I did in past times,” Llewella cut her brother off, “I am done playing the peacemaker. Whatever my sister’s decision will be, I will stand with _her_.” Llewella could feel the apology in his mind, but his mouth did not move. He was a prince of Amber, and they don’t swallow their pride easily. “Good-by, Eric.”

“Good-by, Llewella.” The trump contact broke, and Eric stared at the cool image of his sister for a long while, sighed and put it away, along with the Jewel. The regent rubbed his forehead and resisted the urge to do the same for his bound arm. Just as he downed the last bit of whiskey, another contact came. “Who is it?”

“Corwin. How are you?”

 _Out of all the-_ Eric let out a string of curses, and Corwin’s laughter rang all the more taunting in his ears.


	7. Chapter 7

“I already told you _no_ , you son of a bitch-“ Llewella began as the trump contact came, only to quieten when it was Caine, not Eric.

“I sincerely hope you meant our father and _not_ my mother.” Caine was leaning against the reeling of the ship, and his clothes danced with the wind.

“What do you want?”

The sailor frowned at Llewella’s frigid reply. She’d never been this… distant with him. “Had a little chat with Corwin the other day. He plans to take the fleet, while Bleys marches with the infantry to Amber.” When Llewella didn’t reply, Caine continued on, “I thought you ought to know of the upcoming battle, and because I want to ask your permission to sail through Rebman waters.”

“For what purpose?”

Caine smiled. “No, sweet sister. Its your turn. Where does Rebma stand, regarding Eric’s upcoming reign? No alliance exists without an inkling of trust.”

“Eric has fallen out of favor with both me and my sister, and he has been forewarned of the consequences. Now, for what purpose do you need our waters?”

“Julian may like the chase, but I do not. I want Corwin to be as closely to Amber as possible, so he can’t bail out when the seas get too rough under his deck. This would require my fleet to be in Rebman waters.” Caine paused, and then asked, “Have you given your open support to Corwin?”

“No. I’d give it to you.”

“Me?” Caine’s surprise transformed into amusement.

Llewella tsked at his eager tone. “My turn, dear brother. Have you heard anything of Brand, lately?” When the rebman princess saw Caine’s dark eyes narrow, she quickly added in an innocent tone, “If one redhead is close to Corwin, surely another is not far behind?”

“No. None of us have heard of Brand in a long time. And I won’t abandon my sleep for the dead.” Caine relaxed somewhat, though the corners of his mouth were still tense, and waved to Llewella as to silently tell it was her turn.

“You’re far more loved in Rebma than Eric ever was or will be. Before Corwin returned, you had a far stronger claim than Eric. You’ve never denied to be an ambitious man. I’ve never quite understood why you never pressed your claim.”

As Llewella spoke, Caine’s mouth curled more and more upwards, till the sailor let out a laugh. “I could indeed have made a fuzz like Bleys did,” The prince admitted to Llewella, “But I am literally and figuratively closer to the throne than the redheads have _ever_ been. Why would I ever abandon my position here and go into sea with a half-baked coup with resources that aren’t even completely mine? No. I’m content as it is. Like Corwin demonstrated, assassination attempts are far more common with a future king than with a prince,” Caine’s eyes twinkled. “So, I put aside my claim and my brothers followed my lead, in effect putting Eric in debt to me. He knows full well he would be _nothing_ without my support.” Caine’s words died off. “You are not asking these questions for nothing, sister. Are you finally entering the family game?”

Llewella didn’t reply immediately. “I’m considering,” The rebman princess finally answered.

“It has been ages since we’ve done something together,” Caine sighed from nostalgia as he reached through the trump to take Llewella’s hand, “We’ve been out of touch _far_ too long.”

Llewella felt his hand attempting to pull her through and resisted. “I’ll consider your proposal,” The princess turned her hand so its palm was facing downwards.

“Both of them?” Caine asked as he placed a kiss.

“Both of them.” Llewella comfirmed. “Goodbye, Caine.”

“See you soon, Llewella.”

The rebman princess closed the call with her hand and sighed, looking at the still unfinished paper work. Eh, she’ll wrestle through it tomorrow. Right now, she felt better then she had in ages. the princess stood up to seek her sister. Normally, she would have finished holding court by now, but it seemed to have run out a little bit as she approached the throne room. Llewella respectfully waited in the shadow till the last one was escorted out, and approached the queen. “Finished?”

Somewhat startled, Moire glanced aside to see her sister and noted her relaxed poise. “You look… cheerful.” The queen offered her a smile, despite her exhaustion to hear her subjects all afternoon – it was rare to see Llewella break free from her brooding.

Llewella hummed and began to drum her fingers on the sides of the throne. “Yes, I’ve received a trump call from Caine.”

Moire’s smile became more guarded when Llewella mentioned the prince. “Oh?”

“He wanted to inform us that Corwin has sided with Bleys, and that Corwin will lead the fleet. Caine asked your permission to sail into our waters, so he may lure Corwin too close to Amber and prevent his possible escape into Shadow.” Llewella watched her sister closely as she laid out Caine’s request and when Moire did not immediately reply, the princess continued on, “It is only a passage through our waters, sister. Nothing more.”

“Nothing _more_?” Moire echoed as her eyes finally settled on Llewella, “Earlier, you told me of Eric’s temptation to obliterate our city. And finally, I thought, _finally_ my sister has grown a backbone to make up her mind where she belongs, has distanced herself for good from Amber, and supports my reign with all her heart.”

Llewella lifted her chin, “Which I _do_ , sister. I always have. Else I would not have come to you-”

“- to sway my heart for your kin above!” Moire interrupted as she shot upright from her throne, “Again, and again, and _again_! Now, I not only hear the same song being replayed, but you also want to involve our people in an open war-“

“You are twisting my words-“

“But you desire it.”

“That’s not-“

“Do not deny what I see in your eyes,” Moire pointed with her finger, like she always did whenever little Llewella did something naughty.

Grown up Llewella bit her lip, like she always did whenever she felt something guilty about, before finally bursting out, “Alright yes!” Llewella shot out and again, louder, “Yes! I am tired of sitting here, doing nothing! That is _all_ we have ever done ever since mother died in the Gheneshian wars!” The princess said as the two began to circle around.

“If you are so tired of my ‘passive’ reign, why stay? Go to your kin and play in their war – but it will not be paid by the lives of _my_ people!”

“Martin nearly did!”

Moire froze. “What?”

“Martin was stabbed. By Brand. I do not know when-“

“Is he alive?”

Llewella merely nodded and saw the shoulders of her sister relax.

“Brand?”

“No one has heard of him.” Llewella paused, before continuing in a much softer tone, “That is why I was in contact with Caine, to know of Brand’s where-abouts, to seek an alliance-“

Moire’s eyes widened at her words. “You promised him our support,” The queen whispered to herself, but it was loud enough for Llewella to hear.

“I offered _my_ support,” Llewella corrected her.

“You know full well _your_ support is intertwined with Rebma’s!” Moire raged, “Eric, Bleys, Corwin, now Caine – how many more contenders will rise up and let this succession drag on?!”

“You very much despise Eric. Corwin’s alliance with Bleys doesn’t have much chance of succeeding. Is Caine not almost as dear to you as Benedict?”

“Dear to _you_ , you mean.” Moire glared at her scowling sister, “Tell me, did he promise to bed you in return? That he’ll _love_ and _cherish_ you till death parts you?” Moire asked in a mocking tone. When Llewella began to turn red from anger and shame, the queen began to cackle from surprise, “By Llyr, he _did_!”

“And so _what_?! Corwin offered the exact same thing and I didn’t hear _you_ complain to spread your legs for him!”

Collective gasps could be heard all around the throne room, and it was only now that the two sisters realized they’d gathered a curious and mixed audience of guards, servants and nobility of the court.

**_“LEAVE!”_ **

The palace, and the entire audience for that matter, trembled and they all fled like their very lives depended on it. 

“Give me your trumps.” Moire demanded as she raised her hand for Llewella to place the Trumps upon. When Llewella did not budge, the queen slowly approached her sister. “I will not demand so nicely the third time. Give them. _Now_.”

Without a word, Llewella shoved the deck towards the queen and turned her heel, with her fists balted.

“I did not allow you to turn your back on me.”

Llewella felt pressure rise around her body like a cocoon and the princess lifted it with a snarl. “This is exactly why Morganthe and Martin left us – you were always more a queen than his grandmother, just like you were always more a queen than a sister to me! You always say you will involve us in governing our city, but you are too much a control freak to ever even give a slither to us! You have a duty to our people, yes, but-“

“Because I _am_ queen!”

“STOP INTERUPTING ME!” Llewella roared, and for once, her sister seemed to stagger. “You are hearing me, but you are not listening to a word I say! And yet you say we are equals-“

“You are-“ Moire’s words died when she felt pressure increase around her throat. The queen broke Llewella’s spell, took its remains and fired it back at her, causing the princess to double over. Before the younger sister could even counter, Moire used the currents to lift her in the air with an invisible rope around her neck. The queen watched her younger sister turn red from the struggle, and as her anger began to fade, Moire came to the realization she was killing her only remaining family member.

_No._

Llewella fell to the sea floor, coughing and gasping for air, while Moire slowly approached her. “You’re Llewella. And that’s enough.” The queen whispered as she knelt by her side to help her upright.

It seemed to break something inside the younger sister. Instead of standing up, the princess held on to Moire and wept like a child. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” A crying Llewella repeated through her cries, over and over. It was too much for her to bear: the continuous pressure, to do well for both cities, the war that literally lingered above their heads, the continious nagging that she had to pick a side. And when she did chose her path, she was yelled at and thrown out. 

Daughter of Oberon, sister of Moire - she would always be in the shadow of someone else. She was not as loved as Deirdre, as powerful as Fiona or as beautiful as Flora. 

_Who even was she?!_

Never in her life, had Moire seen her sister break down like this. Usually, Llewella was the one to calm her temper, to make her see another point of view in her tunnel vision. The older sister didn't say a word and merely placed a kiss upon Llewella’s forehead. She did not know how else to comfort her. being the eldest, she was spoon-fed by her mother and her teachers to never show emotion, so she would not be hurt. Ironically, that his caused her to be hurt by the emotional pain she inflicted upon her family.

“We will speak no more of your siblings in Amber, or any requests made to us, tonight. We’ve been out of touch far too long and forgotten what it is like to be sisters.”

Llewella let out a laugh through her tears and nodded – it were nearly the same words that Caine had said to her, earlier. “Yes. Yes, we have been.” The princess took Moire’s hand and let herself be lifted up her feet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a Amber Questionnaire, RZ said that Llewella could move the waters of Rebma to her will. I could easily see this as a unique ability of the rebman royal family. So, in my canon, Moire and Martin possess this ability too.
> 
> Llewella's having a bit of an identity crisis here. She's trying to find her voice, to actively make choices on her own, but finds herself being judged and silenced, time and time again. Eventually, the bomb is gonna burst.
> 
> Caine... ah, Caine. I wondered, why he did not claim the throne and why he did not side with Brand at first. But he is just being smart - let Eric be crowned and take the fall in case Corwin or Oberon returns.


	8. Chapter 8

Things got smoothed out behind the scenes. Moire still did not return Llewella her trumps for the time-being, but they came to another agreement. Caine would be allowed access to the Rebman waters, should Corwin not sway from his plans.

“And what about Martin?” Llewella asked, “You have been evading his name ever since I spoke of him.”

Moire’s smile turned thin. “Were he dead, it would have been a valid reason to openly declare war against Amber. But Martin is not dead. Amber’s attention is now fixated upon the eternal throne. I’ll leave everything as it was-“ The queen took a sip of wine before adding, “until you’ve found out why Brand tried to kill my grandson.”

Llewella nodded, emptied her glass and kissed her sister on the cheek. “I’ll turn in, tonight.”

“Goodnight, Llewella.”

“Goodnight, Moire.” Llewella waved to her sister in the doorway and began to walk towards her bedroom, when she still saw the lights in the library on at this late hour. Llewella nearly put them out, when she heard a sudden crash.

Just a few moments earlier, the unfinished sculpture was still on the table, with Vialle working on it, and Random passing by for a new book. The prince halted, took another step, reconsidered and stayed at the table. “Who is it going to be?”

Vialle’s mouth fell open, completely off guard. Random’s question was not asked out of boredom – it depended from person to person, but they all had this… long, droning tone that Vialle just _hated_. She just wished people would just shut up instead of keeping up a "polite" appearance. “Well, erhm…” Vialle swallowed. Her days with Random had merely consisted of ‘hello’, ‘goodnight’ and ‘does the wine please you?’ They were both dancing around one another, not quite knowing what to say to another. _What do you even say to a stranger you are married to?_

“Right. It’s not my business.”

Vialle jolted out of her thoughts. “No! I mean-“ She hadn’t been paying attention about her surroundings. As the blind woman turned around, she bumped against Random’s shoulder. “I’m so so-“ Vialle began to say as she sought the table. Instead, her elbow knocked against the sculpture. The blind woman winced when her work crashed upon the ground. “Well… It doesn’t matter now,” Vialle quietly noted as the echo of the crash died off.

“Aren’t you going to pick it up?”

Vialle frowned. “Aren’t you going to help?”

Random’s response was something between a snort and a hum. “Why? You’ve lost your eyes, not your hands.”

To Llewella’s surprise, Vialle didn’t take seem to take offense – on the contrary, she even showed a slim smile. “No.. I haven’t.”

After Random’s feet removed themselves, Vialle went on her hands and knees to search for the broken pieces.

The prince returned to the bookshelves, going over the titles. As he did, Random saw Vialle crawl under the table. “You are-“

Vialle shot up and felt the light burst before her eyes. “- under the table.” Vialle groaned as she massaged her head, “Noted.” As she sought and gathered the pieces, the blind woman wondered why he didn’t immediately took over and gather the pieces much faster. “I heard that you drum as a hobby.”

Random, who was returning with his chosen book, paused. “Yes. I do.”

“I was wondering… why do you allow me to take the pieces?” Vialle stopped searching and remained on her knees as she tried to express her thoughts.

“I don’t understand your question.”

“Yes, well… it doesn’t matter.” Vialle gestured with her hand. She was holding him from reading his book.

“Nu-huh. You baited me with a question. Tell me.” Random put the book down and crossed his arms.

“I was surprised. That you didn’t help me, I mean.” Vialle began to fidget with her hands, “You’re quite active. Drumming, horseriding… and you’re a prince. I’d expect you’d want everything solved in a matter of seconds. That you want everything to go fast, that this…. Mess… is cleaned up quickly.”

Random pursed his lips. He began to understand now. “Like I said, you have hands to pick it up.” The prince said as he moved closer to the gathered pile of broken clay. “So… Moire?” The prince asked as he picked up the head.

“What?”

“The statue?”

“Oh. Well… no. Its… Its supposed to be… _become_ Morganthe.” Vialle was no longer fidgeting with her hands, but actively scratching her arm, now. The silence grew to an uncomfortable height, until Vialle almost defensively added, “Its so I don’t forget how she looked like.”

Random’s response was something between a hum and a sigh.

“Do you miss her?”

Usually, when Morganthe was brought up, their voices were accusing him, trying to guilt-trip him. Random could not remember anyone ever asking whether he missed her. _Did he?_ Random pensively looked to her head. Something was not completely… right _._ The clay was not yet hard and Random began to change the jawline of his former lover to resemble her bit better. Then, almost so quietly that Llewella thought it her imagination, “It took me a long while to stop thinking about her when I left. Now, I still remember… _much_.” Another deep sigh, “I guess that counts as missing someone?” Random asked no one in particular, before he found his hands itching. “Do you mind if I use a pencil and add-“

“Not at all. I didn’t know you sculpted?” Vialle heard Random’s pencil scratch in the semi-hard clay. While she could use her nails to paint the eyes, mouth and nose inside the clay, her statues lacked the dimensions of an actual face.

“Did a bit of clay sculpture in the far, far past, but eventually settled on carving wood. Easier to take with you, to pass the time. Made an entire wooden deck of playing cards once.”

“So why did you leave?” Vialle quietly continued as she listened to Random’s movements, “If you kept thinking about her, if you still remember her…”

Random’s eyes were glazed over, seeing neither Vialle or the library, but his hands were still working as if they lead their own life. “The absence of our respective mother… it gave a common bond here in Rebma, but after a while in Shadow… I don’t know. We just grew apart. Like we were both… _empty_. Like we had no more words or stories to tell one another.” Random blinked, returning to the present day. Oh Unicorn, he had completely changed Vialle’s initial form.

“Can I see?”

“Yeah… sure.” Random moved aside and looked away so he would not see her enthusiasm die.

“Its…”

_Horrifying. A disgrace to her memory. A foul stench on her soul._

“It’s… really _beautiful_ , Random.” Vialle murmured as her fingers went across Morganthe’s face, finding the wrinkles, her lips…

“You think?”

Vialle turned to face him and Random saw tears brimming in her eyes. “No, I don’t think. I know.” The blind woman began to smile and cry at the same time and she wiped her tears away with her arm.

Her brother had never looked so serene – that was until a creak of the door she was leaning against, shook the two out of their spell. Random’s face became as hard as a statue. “Yes?”

Vialle, may I lend your husband for a minute?”

“Certainly.” The woman halted when Random called her.

“Can you take my book with you?”

Vialle beamed and showed her open palms to her husband. “With pleasure. Goodnight, Random. Goodnight, Llewella.”

Both siblings returned her the same words.

“Wine?”

“No thank you. I’ve had plenty.” Llewella seated herself and watched her brother fetch a drink for himself.

“So…” Random seated himself, took a sip and swirled the drink in his glass, waiting for his sister to start.

“Corwin.” Llewella watched her younger brother, but as usual, he did not let anything on. “He wounded Eric, sided with Bleys and takes their assembled fleet to lay siege on Amber.”

Random nodded. “And what does that mean for Deirdre and me?”

Llewella gave her brother a grim smile, “Don’t fret, brother. Eric’s wrath towards Rebma – and you both – has been repelled. He is no friend of mine or Moire any longer.”

“So if you are not his ally-”

“I said he is no longer a _friend_. I did not say Rebma will openly oppose his reign.”

“As always, the diplomatic solution.” Random snorted for her passive behavior when Llewella’s piercing eyes made his smile falter.

“Not everything is as cut and dry for you.” The princess sneered, “Moire does not desire Eric upon the Eternal throne, but she does not see much success in Corwin’s campaign either. He’s already marching through Shadow as we speak.”

“Still, with the time-differential-“

“It’s a huge toss-up nonetheless. It _could work_ , had Eric not mastered the Jewel of Judgement.”

Random’s eyes began to bulge and the prince reared up, sitting attentively at the edge of his seat. “You are _joking_.”

“Do you see me laughing?” Llewella watched her brother swallow the news with another sip of wine, “Rebma is tired of Amber’s continuous instability. Everyone, including Corwin, needs time to breathe. He barely got his memory back and immediately plunges into a siege…” Llewella shook her head.

“Patience was never his strong point.” Random agreed as he placed his cup upon the table.

“But it is yours.”

Random’s mouth curled at her flattery, “Go on.”

“If I could, I would have contacted Corwin myself. But I am but a sister-“ Llewella added with a sarcastic undertone, “-and I think your voice, along with the information I just shared, could sway him to stand down for the time being.”

Random let out a laugh, “If you want a diplomat, ask Benedict or Fiona.“

“Benedict is _not_ here. Fiona is _not_ here. Corwin has no use to the carefully chosen words of a diplomat, but the honest concern of his support.”

“You think me honest?”

Llewella sniffed her nose when Random’s eyes narrowed. “Or blunt - if you prefer that word - at the most inconvenient times.” When Random remained silent, Llewella leaned forward, “I could have easily kept my mouth shut and let Corwin’s siege turn into a massacre.” For a moment, Llewella thought to mention Caine, standing by to sail in Rebman waters. _But if Eric’s mastery over the Jewel could not sway Corwin… what else would?_

“I know.” Random quietly replied and swallowed the last bit of wine in his cup, “And I’ll try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought Random's true transformation came when he and Vialle were in jail. However, I think Corwin's gratitude during their drive to Amber also had a significant influence on Random - and a far bigger influence than Corwin himself even realizes. I think his warning to Corwin was the first time he ever thought about the larger problems i.e. the throne and the overall war, but also about his family.  
> (Random's search for Brand was out of curiosity and boredom, rather than genuine concern.)
> 
> That being said, Random hasn't yet taken the time to get to know Vialle, and off course, he's being a jerk.


	9. Chapter 9

From her mirror, Llewella watched Corwin and Bleys fighting themselves up the stairs of Kolvir. She hadn’t expected them to come so far – she believed none of her siblings had. Their determination surely was admirable. The princess narrowed her eyes, settling on Bleys. Knowing what she did now, she but had to think and let the sea splatter him and his entire army against the rocks of Kolvir.

_When had one redhead ever done anything without the others?_

But she knew neither role of her fighting brothers within Brand’s little scheme. Corwin would be among the casualties. while he was no saint, Llewella did not want to condemn Corwin without knowing the precise details – something the boys would have no qualms with whatsoever – yet it were often those details that that mattered the most.

_So, what to do?_

Llewella drummed her fingers on her chair. Once they succeeded Kolvir’s ascension, she would no longer be able to see let alone talk to either of them before Eric managed to imprison or kill them. She needed an opportunity for the both to be separated.

It seemed as if the Unicorn had heard her, for Bleys suddenly became entangled by one of Eric’s soldiers, before the both of them fell over the edge. Llewella shot up from her chair and began to reach through the Mirror at the same time Corwin threw his Trumps.

_“Catch them, you FOOL!”_

For a moment, Llewella froze in surprise at Corwin’s words, before quickly focusing on the falling redhead amidst his trumps. Her hands became the sea, which rose up to catch her brother before he would hit the concrete sea surface, and Llewella yanked.

The screaming redhead flew among Corwin’s thrown trumps into her room, groaning as he fell upon the sea floor. “Ha… Llewella” The redhead were still panting from both his fight as well as his fall and gave a haphazardly wave with his hand, before letting it drop upon the cold floor.

“Hello Bleys. Long time no see.” The princess coldly replied as she strode past him without offering her help. Instead, Llewella gestured with her hand, causing Corwin’s trumps to rise from the floor and to fly neatly upon her palm. “You gave quite a show.”

“Glad you enjoyed it-” Bleys rolled himself upon his back and began to rub his bloodied face, “- but falling from Kolvir was not in my plans.”

“I sincerely doubt you were _that_ unprepared.”

“You assume a lot – Corwin throwing me his trumps certainly surprised me.”

“Then am I assuming also incorrectly that Brand gut Martin like a pig?” The princess held Bleys’ gaze, and when the redhead did not answer, Llewella bended the currents of the sea to move Bleys against the wall. “You owe me answers. Unless you don’t have any to give off course, then I’ll crush you like Kolvir’s rocks would have done.”

“Wait, alright! Alright, I’ll talk!” Bleys screamed as the pressure began to increase. “Yes!”

“What, yes?”

“Brand spilled Martin’s blood! There! You happy now?!”

“Do I look _happy_?” Llewella frigidly replied, “Why did Brand do this – why did _you_ allow it?”

“I didn’t know he used Martin – I swear on the Unicorn herself, I did not KNOW!” Bleys bellowed when Llewella raised her eyebrow, “We had agreed to bleed upon the P-” Bleys stopped himself, but it was too late. Llewella caught on. The lines behind Brand in Martin’s nightmare completed in her mind’s eye. _Off course. The Pattern!_

“Why bleed upon the Pattern?”

No answer. Llewella cranked up the severity, causing her brother to gag and curse. Blood began to drip from his nose and mouth.

“Dworkin’s blood!” Bleys finally burst out, and some of the pressure was relieved, though still palpable around him. “Our blood can weaken the Pattern – any Pattern! So we did, to- to weaken Amber on purpose and place…me upon the throne!”

“Who is ‘we’?”

“Fiona…myself, Brand…” Bleys’ hands travelled to his chest, to somehow ward off the burning pain in his lungs. “Brother tried to… to enlist Caine….”

 _Caine?!_ Llewella shelved the information in the back of her mind and released Bleys of his invisible leach. As her brother lay there, gagging and clutching his chest, Llewella prepared and offered the flame-haired prince the drink, who stiffened like a deer.

“If I wanted you dead, I have other, much preferrable ways. It is for your diver’s sickness,” The rebman princess watched as her brother accepted the drink and swallowed it in one go. For a moment, Llewella let him recover and give her time to form her next question. “Where are Fiona and Brand now?” The rebman princess circled around the redhead as she spoke.

Bleys took in a deep breath, feeling the symptoms lessen. “Fiona, like dad before her, is off into Shadow to search a cure for the Pattern. Brand-“ With the greatest difficulty, Bleys shut his mouth, but he felt the words burning hotter by the second before they finally burst out, “- knows or at least claims to know how to cure it-“ Bleys gasped out, “- my sister and I have been trying to prey the information out of him ever since. He’s in a tower off in Shadow.” The redhead clutched his head, “What did you-“ The redhead began to ask.

“Why would you weaken the Pattern and not even know its cure?” Llewella rapidly asked. Aside from curing diver's sickness, it also stopped her brother from denying the truth. Often used in Rebma to question their prisoners. Though, she feared with their father's blood, the effect would not last as long.

“Because it wouldn’t have been needed, had it only been a few drops of blood from each of us. The Pattern would have endured. But Brand single-handedly wiped an entire section by spilling Martin’s blood, possibly damaging it beyond repair.”

“Does Corwin know about Brand and Martin?”

“During his stay, he did not mention Martin in my presence and told me he wasn’t aware of Brand’s where-abouts, but…”

“But _what_?”

“While Brand is well confined, I could sense Brand’s trump was active the other night and I could intervene that he made full contact to Corwin. Take from that what you will.” Bleys’ eyes began to twinkle again and Llewella scowled. _Damn it. The potion’s effect was gone._ Llewella didn’t say another word, stormed out of the room and locked Bleys inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't believe it was ever adressed how Bleys survived his fall, but it seems very unlikely he could have grabbed one of Corwins trumps, concentrate, get someone to answer AND willing to pull him through before he became a human pancake.

**Author's Note:**

> Trying a completely different angle here, and wanted to focus on characters with whom I have not yet done much with.  
> I have written more already, but I want to tweak it, and put out shorter chapters for this one.


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